


It Started on a Tuesday

by Pokeydotes



Series: It's the Little Things, Dude [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokeydotes/pseuds/Pokeydotes
Summary: Peter had plans. Those plans had not included MJ, at least not at first.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker
Series: It's the Little Things, Dude [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565779
Comments: 19
Kudos: 362





	It Started on a Tuesday

It started on a Tuesday.

It was nothing drastic, nothing that could be classified as dramatic in anyway. But that was just MJ; intense in an ironical display of not giving a fuck.

Peter was in detention. The room was crowded, the majority of the students stationed near the back of the room, phones discreetly hidden beneath their desks, their eyes focused anywhere but on the image of Captain America scowling disapprovingly from the dust covered TV.

Coach Wilson, in usual style, seemed completely indifferent to the teens’ suffering. He’d taken roll, read off the usual list of rules (no cell phones, no talking, no food or drink, no leaving, no enjoying life in any form), and pressed play on the agonizingly familiar video. He was now leaned back in his chair, a pair of headphones dangling from his ears as he scrolled through his phone. If Peter listened, he could just make out the sound of old school Beyonce filtering through the speakers.

Peter looked at the clock on the wall and frowned. It was stuck at 11:14, the batteries having died long ago with clearly no one caring enough to bother changing them out. A quick glance at his wrist showed it was only 3:26. He still had another thirty-four minutes before he was free.

He looked around, made sure no one was looking and slowly let his thumb run along the edge of his watch, smiling as the face shifted, the numbers disappearing to make way for a series of icons.

Mr. Stark had designed it to look unassuming, to blend in with any other smart watch the idiots on the street loved to play with. Or so that’s what he had said.

_“If you want the world to think you’re a muggle, kid, don’t walk around with your wand out. That didn’t come out right. Ignore what I just said. Just, here. Take the watch. Do not leave your house without it. And don’t let anyone play with it.”_

Peter didn’t think it was the most inconspicuous thing. He honestly didn’t think Tony Stark was capable of inconspicuous. Everything the man touched had to come with a bit of flair, Peter’s new watch included.

He knew it came with a GPS tracker, Tony had admitted as much, listing a series of reasons, the most glaring being the unspoken reminder that he had a newfound tendency to get into trouble when not in his suit, Peter Parker being just as likely to get in a bind as Spider-Man.

There was also a panic button with a direct line to Friday. If Peter ever got in over his head, a quick click of a button, a tap on the little crying spider symbol, and help would be on the way.

Peter’s favorite was the interface with his suit’s AI. Karen was literally just a button away. He was careful not to press that icon, not in a room full of unknowing civilians. He was pretty certain Tony had made it so that Karen would know when she could and couldn’t talk, but Peter didn’t want to risk it. Not here.

He let his wrist drop down and looked around the room. Three students looked like they were asleep. One had given up the charade and had her phone propped on her desk as she watched a muted makeup tutorial.

One guy looked like he was actually working on homework.

Peter yawned, hooked his toe on the leg of the nearest empty desk and pulled it towards him. A few students looked his way at the sound, but they quickly went back to their own little worlds. Peter propped his feet on the desk and let his head fall back to lean against the wall. Maybe if he fell asleep, the next thirty minutes would actually be bearable.

That was the plan. But MJ didn’t give a crap about his plans. She never had.

Peter must have fallen asleep because he missed the sound of the door opening, didn’t notice the way she casually ambled through the rows of desk. The spider was used to her, recognized she wasn’t a threat, so of course it didn’t bother alerting him. Would have been nice if it had, though. It might have saved him a little embarrassment.

“You’re not failing English Lit.” she said, pulling the desk out from under his feet. His shoes hit the ground with an unexpected thud, an equally unexpected squawk escaping Peter’s throat. She was standing over him, face relaxed in a bored sort of pout.

Peter hastily straightened himself and frowned. “Um…no, I’m not.”

“That wasn’t a question,” she said, one hand on her hip, the other on her backpack strap. “It’s an order. You fail English Lit, you’re off the team. I have two years left in this hell hole, and I refuse to spend my afternoons listening to Flash Thompson revel in the glory that is unseating you in your spot on the team because you were too stupid to grasp the concept of an annotated bibliography.”

Rude.

People were openly staring. Coach Wilson had even gone so far as to remove one of his earbuds, the corner of his mouth lifting up in amusement. What happened to that no talking rule?

Peter swallowed reflexively and tried to pretend he didn’t feel a blush rising up his neck. He hadn’t forgotten about their essay, not completely anyway. “I promise not to fail,” he told her. “I’ll work on it this weekend.”

“It’s due Friday.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she said, clearly unimpressed as she dropped her bag to the ground and plopped down on the desk. “That’s why I’m going home with you.”

“What? No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

And she did.

She took the train with him, asking him a series of questions that did nothing but highlight just how much Peter was behind.

“Have you picked a topic?”

“Do you have an outline yet?”

“Have you bothered checking out any books?”

“Do you even remember where the school library is, or did that spider bite wipe your memory?”

“Not in public, MJ,” he hissed looking around the train. No one was paying them any attention and she knew it, told him as much. God, he was going to kill Ned for telling her.

“Ned, didn’t tell me, asswipe. We’ve been over this already. Anyway, I’m pretty sure both May and Stark said you had to keep up your grades if you wanted to keep playing dress up,” she gave him a knowing look and (thank Thor) lowered her voice. “This paper is twenty-five percent of our grade and you’re already borderline.”

“I have a B,” Peter defended. He wasn’t failing, he hadn’t let his grades fall that far. Hell, he still had an A in half of them, at least the ones that came natural. “And it’s a high B, that’s hardly failing.”

“No, but you forget to turn this paper in and it automatically drops you down to a C,” she pointed out and yeah, okay, she had a point. Still wouldn’t be failing (but it would kick him off the decathlon team).

He sighed, focused his eyes on the cartoon penis someone had drawn on the train’s window and admitted that no, he hadn’t been to the library (but he still knew where it was), and that it was fine, they were allowed to use online sources (most of the books were online anyway, chill, MJ).

May was sat at the kitchen table when they arrived. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her glasses perched low on her nose as she squinted angrily at her laptop. That angry squint, however, quickly morphed into a look of surprised amusement the moment MJ walked through the door.

“She’s gonna help me with homework,” Peter explained. “We’ve got a paper due Friday.”

“Is that right?” May said, her tone light, suggestive, and completely mortifying.

“And Peter hasn’t even started on it,” MJ pointed out. Unhelpful. Rude.

“Is that right?” May’s tone was no longer playful. She looked at Peter, her face stern, eyebrow arched disapprovingly. “Well, thank you, MJ, for helping him.”

“No problem,” MJ shrugged, “I’m only doing this for purely selfish reasons. He fails, I’m forced to acknowledge that Flash is an actual member of the decathlon team.”

“Still,” May said, her smile returning as she looked at MJ, her tone once again playful, “your sacrifice is still appreciated. Would you like some juice?”

Peter rolled his eyes. They raided the fridge, reluctantly accepted a plate of May’s homemade zucchini bread, and made their way to Peter’s room.

“Door stays open,” May called from the kitchen, because of course this wasn’t mortifying enough.

“May!” Peter hissed.

Apparently it _wasn’t_ mortifying enough because MJ, not bothering to keep her voice down, decided to say, “Just leave it open, dork. It’s not like I’m looking to lose my virginity on a bunkbed anyway.”

Lovely.

And thus began a pattern.

* * *

Most times Ned was there, sometimes it was just the two of them, but Peter noticed a distinct increase in the amount of time he spent with MJ. It wasn’t a drastic change. For a long time, Ned had been Peter’s only friend, but adding another wasn’t as hard as Peter thought it would be. Making room for MJ in the mix was as easy as moving down a few seats at lunch, making sure there was a Lego free spot for her to sit and read while they “got their dork on”, and expanding their array of snacks on movie nights.

“I don’t do gummies. The moment they get in your mouth and get wet they feel like a lumpy loogey.”

“That’s disgusting, MJ.”

“Yes, it is. Which is why I don’t eat them.”

It hadn’t been a conscious decision, at least not on Peter’s end. It had started with her offering (forcing) help with an essay, and sort of just…morphed. It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than that. But that Tuesday was followed by a Wednesday, which led to a Monday, and by the following Friday, Peter realized he’d made a new friend.

There was also the added benefit that Peter’s grades actually improved. But so did MJ’s, because while she was a genius when it came to things like literary analyses, historical timelines, and translating the confusion that was Beowulf, Peter was a natural when it came to differential equations and calculating the molecular fraction of a chemical concentration.

“It’s a quid pro quo, Parker. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

And they did.

Ned loved it. He was no longer alone when Peter was off saving the city. He no longer had to worry if Peter was going to bail on him (again) because Captain America or Iron Man had asked for help because MJ turned out to be a nerd too and was willing to binge watch old Buffy reruns or offer helpful constructive criticism (heavy on the criticism) for Ned’s cosplay costumes. And he actually had someone other than Peter to talk to about the whole Spider-Man thing because, dude, is that not the coolest thing ever?!?!

“Totally. I can hardly contain my excitement.” She might act like it was no big deal, but Peter was pretty sure he caught her smiling the first time she saw him crawl across his ceiling.

May loved it because it was something normal, something an average teenage boy would do.

“It’s normal to have friends.”

“I’ve always had Ned.”

“Friends, sweetie. Plural. She’s good for you, both you and Ned.”

Peter wasn’t sure how Tony felt about it.

“MJ is a girl?”

“Yes.”

“A girl who’s a friend, or a girlfriend? Because those require different talks.”

“It’s MJ, she’s just a friend.”

“So no Talk talk needed?”

“God no.”

Except maybe that had been a little lie. Not really. Scratch that. It wasn’t a lie. Not at the time, but Peter figured he’d have to revisit that discussion later because it was a Thursday when he caught himself staring across the classroom, looking at MJ as she leaned over her math worksheet, that little wrinkle of frustration formed between her eyebrows as she worked through the problems. It was as he looked down, mentally acknowledging that she hadn’t worn that top in a while that he froze.

Well shit.

No.

He purposely avoided looking at her for the next two hours. It was his new goal in life to act normal, to rewire his brain before he went home that day and reset it to factory settings. MJ was his friend. She scowled, called him names, mocked him for liking Legos, and always had a comment (not a compliment) on the way he looked in his suit.

But she also made sure he got his homework done, had started carrying peanut butter and chocolate chip granola bars in her bag for when he looked peaky, and texted him to make sure he was okay after she’d watched the evening news and seen that Spider-Man had a bad day. She’d even started texting him when she thought that Peter had a bad day.

No. This was not happening.

Just act normal, no big deal.

Except Peter kinda sucked at that.

By the time lunch rolled around, MJ had obviously caught on to Peter’s little charade, to his plan to hit factory reset and resume the mental role of _just friends._ But MJ didn’t give a crap about his plans. She never had.

She slammed her tray down in front of him, the little puddle of instant mashed potatoes jiggled in its assigned slot and slopped onto the table. “Why are you being weird?”

“What?” he asked, eyes wide, face innocent. “I’m not—I’m not being weird.”

MJ was not impressed. She cut her eyes to Peter’s left and prompted, “Ned?”

“You’re totally being weird, dude,” Ned supplied, most unhelpfully, around a bite of turkey and cheese.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Ned.”

Ned swallowed and reached for his pudding cup. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Seriously, Parker. Spill it,” MJ ordered. She pushed her tray to the side, making room on the table so she could lean forward, her spine curving into a slumped pose as she narrowed her eyes at Peter in what he assumed was meant to be a threatening, demanding expression. Peter just thought it was cute.

Well shit.

“I’m not being weird,” he insisted and focused on the bowl of leftover spaghetti in front of him. “I’m just…thinking.”

“Thinking about doing something stupid?” she asked, one eyebrow raising questioningly.

Peter dropped his fork and frowned. “What? Why would you ask that?”

“Because historically speaking, you don’t have the best track record with thinking and decision making, at least not since you got bit,” Ned answered for her. MJ smirked and pointed at Ned, clearly agreeing.

“You two are the worst friends ever,” Peter grumbled as he stabbed at his spaghetti. He could feel the noodles crunch beneath the plastic fork. Aunt May called it al dente. Peter called it undercooked. “I’m gonna start sitting by myself.”

It was an empty threat, and they knew it. MJ leaned further in and said, “Tell me, or I text Un-Happy Hogan and tell him you’re up to no good.”

Peter blinked. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” she insisted, eyebrow inching higher. “That’s why Stark gave me his number, as a preventive measure to your idiocy.”

“Snitches get stitches,” Ned whispered, sounding somewhat uncomfortable yet awed by the stare down taking place between his two friends.

MJ wasn’t fazed. “So do bug boys who do stupid shit.”

She used to not care about what happened to him as Spider-Man. He once came to school with the remains of a still healing black eye. She’d looked at it, scowled, and said, “You know that makes you look like a dumbass, right? What are you telling people happened?”

“Uh…that I fell.”

“So a clumsy dumbass. Nice.”

But a few weeks ago, he’d missed school. It was just a day, but it’d followed a rather bad run in with some rather bad guys, and MJ tended to stay up to date on current events.

He’d woken up, face down on the couch to find her staring at him, her feet tucked under her knees as she sat on the coffee table.

“May let me in,” she said, her eyes staring at his bare back.

“It’s not that bad,” he’d said.

“You were burned,” she’d said.

“It’ll heal.”

“So I was told.”

Ever since then, she’d taken an uncharacteristically intense concern in what he got up to when wearing his suit. So yeah, he could kind of understand why she was glaring at him in the middle of the cafeteria, a worried pinch to her forehead.

“I’m not planning on doing anything stupid,” he assured her, hoping his sincerity came through. “This has nothing to do with…that bug thing. Promise”

MJ continued to stare, her head tilting to the side in consideration. With her eyes still locked on his, she propped her elbow on the table, extended her little finger and said, “Pinky swear it.”

“What?” Peter asked, looking at her hand like he expected her to slap him. It was MJ, it could happen.

“Pinky swear you aren’t planning on doing something that could get you killed,” she said. Her finger was still extended.

“Or maimed,” Ned added.

Peter was about to ignore them both, to push away her hand and tell her to quit joking around, but her expression was firm, like she might be serious and wasn’t simply waiting for the perfect moment to mock him.

Keeping eye contact, Peter hastily wiped his clammy hand on his jeans before extending his little finger and locking it with hers. “I pinky swear I’m not planning on doing anything stupid,” he said.

MJ squeezed her finger once, seemingly sealing the deal, before letting her hand drop. She grabbed her fork and began sorting through the food on her tray, shifting the inedibles from the not with her familiar air of disinterest, like they hadn’t just reverted back to fourth grade negotiation tactics in the middle of the cafeteria.

Peter didn’t really know what to do with that. Based on the fact that Ned was staring at MJ with a look of bemused concern, a spoonful of pudding waiting unforgotten halfway to his mouth, he too was a little thrown off.

But MJ being MJ didn’t let the awkwardness linger. She stabbed a chicken finger with her fork, dipped it in ketchup, and brought it to her mouth. She met Peter’s eye, gave him what looked like a half-smile and said in a surprisingly fond tone, “Losers.”

Maybe he’d hold off on the whole factory reset thing. 

* * *

Four Tuesdays had passed by the time Peter decided to just accept it. He liked her. Like _like_ liked her.

Karen didn’t see anything wrong with it.

“MJ seems like a nice girl, Peter.”

“MJ doesn’t really _do_ nice,” Peter corrected, “But yeah, she is.” He was in his room, sitting on his bed in nothing but his boxers and mask, his attention split between the AI and the video game he’d been playing for the past two hours. Aunt May was in the living room watching reruns of The Nanny on TV.

“Then why can’t you tell her how you feel?” Karen asked, and she sounded generally confused, like her programming couldn’t process the concept of social suicide.

Peter shrugged. “Because I kind of want her to stick around. “

There was a pause. “I do not understand.”

Peter sighed and pressed pause on his game. “I’m about a thousand percent certain MJ just likes me as a friend, and even that’s a still relatively new development. If I tell her I like her like _that_ …she’ll run away. Or punch me. Either is a possibility when it comes to her.”

“You had feelings for Liz,” Karen reminded him. “And she didn’t run away when you told her you liked her.”

Peter un-paused his game. “Liz is in Oregon, Karen.”

“Not because you admitted you had feelings for her.”

She had a point.

Still…

* * *

Karen was a freaking traitor.

It was late, probably past his curfew late, but he was adamantly not checking the time. He was perched on a fire escape, the balls of his feet balancing carefully on the railing as he squatted down, shoulders hunched as he scanned the empty alley below.

He thought he’d heard something, but so far he couldn’t see anything.

“Incoming call from MJ,” Karen signaled, displaying an image of a sarcastically smiling MJ, middle finger extended towards the camera on his mask’s display. “Why do you have an angry face emoji by her name?”

“Do not answer,” he said, climbing down to get a closer look.

“Why not?” Karen asked, and Peter didn’t like the tone of her voice. Had Mr. Stark programmed her to sound so…mischievous?

He dropped down to the ground. “Just let it go to voicemail,” he whispered. He still didn’t see anything, but better safe than sorry.

“ _What’s up, dork_?” MJ’s voice filtered through his mask, sounding much too loud for the quiet alley.

What the fuck? Peter raised his hands in frustration and frowned, hoping the AI picked up on it. “Karen!?”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I must have misunderstood you,” Karen replied, and Peter was definitely going to talk to Mr. Stark about her programming. “Also, my sensors are detecting someone approaching.”

Peter turned in time to see a door open. Two masked men walked out, the bags on their backs overloaded with something that looked strangely like laptops and DVD players.

“ _I thought we could go over the study guide for History_ ,” MJ explained. Peter could hear the sound of paper rustling over the line. _“Or are you still trying to ignore me?”_

“No, I’m not ignoring you,” he said, just as one of the men turned his way. Peter saw the man raise his arm, a shiny silver gun in his gloved hand. “I’m just kinda busy here, MJ.”

_“Multi-tasking is good for brain development and we have a test tomorr—are those gunshots?”_

“Yes, they are,” Karen answered. “The police have been notified, Peter, and I’d like to remind you that your suit is not bullet proof.”

“Don’t need reminding,” Peter said through gritted teeth. He flung out a web and grabbed the gun, smiling at the way the man’s eyes widened in surprise. Seriously? Haven’t they heard of him by now? “I’ll call you back later, MJ. Karen, hang up.”

 _“Do not hang up on me!”_ MJ ordered. _“I’ll be quiet.”_

The first man was taken care of, his gun gone, his hands webbed to the wall. Peter had his arms raised ready to take care of the second man, but he wasn’t fast enough. He was just about to bring his fingers back to fire a web when the little hairs on his arms stood on end and he instinctively ducked.

“Son of—what the hell, man?” Peter asked as dust from the bullet riddled bricks above his head rained down. “That is just rude. Didn’t your momma teach you about manners?”

_“Are you smack talking the man with the gun?”_

“Thought you were gonna be quiet?” Peter asked as he fired his web, swinging around the bad guy, wrapping him up like a gift, and leaving him to hang upside down for good measure.

_“And I thought you had common sense. Seems like a no brainer not to piss off the people shooting at you.”_

“I agree with MJ, Peter,” Karen added.

 _“Thank you, Karen_ ,” MJ said, and Peter swore he could hear her smile.

“You are most welcome.” Little miss sassy was _soooo_ getting her programming looked at.

Peter shot a web and hoisted himself up to the edge of the building. He could see the lights from the police cars in the distance. “I hate you both.”

_“No you don’t, now, are you still being shot at or can we cover chapter twelve?”_

* * *

Mr. Stark once asked if Peter had a death wish. It was asked in exasperation, a little bit out of anger, and Peter had been quick to point out that no, he most certainly did not.

Except apparently he did.

Because he’d just kissed MJ.

It was an accident. Sort of. At least, in the same way that he sometimes said things out loud when he meant to just think them kind of accident.

He had thought about kissing her.

Didn’t mean he actually meant to freaking do it.

Ergo, Accident.

He was pretty sure that was how she was planning on making his death look, too.

It was Saturday. Early enough in the day that May wasn’t yet worried about when he’d be home, but late enough in the morning that Peter had already found trouble.

“Come on, man,” Peter pleaded, groaning as he tightened Ned’s belt around his thigh. “May can’t see this. She worries enough as it is.” They were on the roof of Ned’s building, tucked out of the way between an air conditioner unit and the entrance to the stairs.

Ned was still in his pajamas. MJ looked like she had dressed in a hurry. And Peter was bleeding everywhere. Normal Saturday.

“With good reason apparently,” MJ noted as she knelt down to look at the gash on Peter’s leg. She’d brought her dad’s first-aid kit, something Peter swore he needed to invest in. The large, black bag was sitting on the ground, close enough to reach but far enough that Peter wouldn’t bleed on it.

Peter hissed as MJ reached forward and lifted the torn material of his suit. He pulled his mask off and looked at the wound. “It’ll heal. I just—we just need to stop the bleeding till then,” he repeated for the third time. Both MJ and Ned still looked unimpressed. Well, MJ looked unimpressed. Ned looked panicked. “It looks worse than it actually is.”

“You are a fucking idiot. I swear,” MJ sighed, grabbing Peter’s wrist and reaching for his watch. She slid her thumb along the edge, activating the hidden icons. For a second, Peter thought she was about to press his panic button. But she bypassed the crying spider icon and went for the image of a heart with a large purple K in the center. “Karen,” MJ began, “is he gonna die if we ignore this?”

“Ignoring is not recommend,” Karen advised, causing MJ to look up at Peter with a scowl. “However, although the wound seems deep, it does not appear to have hit anything vital. My sensors detect that his advanced healing has already began.”

“Thank you, Karen,” Peter said, smirking when MJ rolled her eyes.

“My pleasure, Peter.”

“So…” Ned began, digging through the bag MJ had brought, “stitches?”

That was the next to last thing Peter wanted. Well, next to next to last. The next to last was for May to find out about this.

The last was to die from blood loss.

MJ reached in the bag and grabbed a sterile-packed suture kit. Peter took one look at the curved needle and cringed.

“Alright,” MJ said, pulling on a pair of gloves, “Strip, tiger.”

“You know what you’re doing?” he asked, loosening the belt above the wound. He balanced on one leg and pressed the emblem on his chest. Thanks to the sticky blood, the suit didn’t want to fall straight to the ground.

MJ simply gave it a pull, pulled out a pack of alcohol wipes and said, “I’ve watched a few YouTube videos.”

“I think I felt better before you said that,” Peter admitted. It was a sunny day, but he still felt cold standing on a roof in nothing but his underwear.

“It’s either me or jitter fingers over there,” MJ pointed out, head tilting to indicate Ned as she went about cleaning the cut. “Or we could go with my original plan and call Stark.”

“You’re fine,” Peter assured her. He reached out and gripped the edge of the air conditioner, letting his weight lean against it as he tried to ignore the sting. “It probably only needs like two, maybe three stitches.”

“They’re not gonna be pretty,” she warned and then proceeded to stitch him up.

It probably should have had three, but she finished with two. Peter was fine with that. She carefully cleaned it again and covered it with two Iron Man bandages. When Peter looked down and saw them, he quirked an eyebrow.

“Dad buys them for my brother,” she explained and gave his leg a little tap. She climbed to her feet, pulled off the gloves and let them fall to the ground. “Alright, you’re good to go. And by ‘go’ I mean go home, or I swear to god I will call Happy and tell him you spent the morning bleeding all over Queens.”

Peter meant to say “Thank you,” maybe even point out that it was hardly all over Queens, two blocks tops.

He kissed her instead.

It wasn’t anything special. One hand still holding onto the antique air conditioner vent, Peter reached out with the other and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her forward and planting a short, sweet peck right on her lips.

In front of Ned.

In his underwear.

Not at all how he’d planned the day to go. But MJ had a way of messing up his plans even when she didn’t do anything at all.

Peter quickly let her go. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She paused, eyes momentarily wide before falling back to something that looked a bit more disinterested and less surprised. “Don’t be.”

“We’re good?” he asked. Still whispering, like she wasn’t allowed to hear him. What a loser.

“Yeah. We’re good.” Oh good. She was whispering too.

She bent down, picked up the first-aid bag, kicked one of the bloody gloves to the side and said, “You’re still a loser.”

“I’m aware.”

And then she was gone, her head ducking down right before she went through the doorway. Peter liked to imagine she was smiling. He was.

“What the frack just happened?”

That was a very good question, Ned.

Let’s explore that later.

* * *

And they did. Explore that is. Not Ned. Ned wasn’t invited. In all honesty, Peter didn’t know _he_ was invited until MJ kissed him between the lockers right before Decathlon practice.

She pushed him against the wall, his hip hitting the water fountain just before she leaned in and planted a short, sweet peck right on his lips.

She didn’t say anything. Simply gave him an appraising, somewhat challenging glare, pulled a stack of notecards out of her back pocket, and turned to walk through the library doors. “Alright people. Let’s get started,” she called out, sounding very much like nothing had just happened.

Something had very much just happened, and it rattled Peter’s brain. So much so that he missed three questions during practice.

MJ didn’t look annoyed though. She looked a little proud.

Rude.

* * *

It was a Wednesday when he got a real kiss. With tongue, because apparently that was his life now, and he was more than okay with that.

He couldn’t stop smiling all through chemistry, even after Ned leaned in and asked, “Can you please stop doing that? You’re just rubbing it in at this point.”

Ned could get over it.

* * *

It was eleven Mondays later when Peter realized that he’d been missing out on life.

So MJ might not be up to losing her virginity on a bunkbed (might not be up to losing it at all at the moment, she made that clear) but it didn’t mean she wasn’t up for…other things.

May had caught on to the whole _yeah, we make out now_ thing and had forbidden Peter from having MJ over when May wasn’t home.

It was Monday morning during spring break which meant May was out. But so were MJ’s parents and they hadn’t enforced such rules.

MJ didn’t have a bunkbed.

She had a small twin pushed in the corner near the window. Her room was surprisingly feminine, a mixture of the little girl she used to be and the young woman she was morphing into. Peter looked around at the mounds of books, the framed photographs, and splattering of clothes and realized that the room almost looked like it belonged to a grown up.

Nothing like his, with his posters, and video games, and action figures. And the bunkbed.

The plan had been to lounge around, eat junk food, maybe make out for a bit, and watch a movie or two. That was it, honest to god.

And it made sense. Ned’s family had gone to New Jersey for the week, and since May had point blank made it clear MJ couldn’t be over without at least Ned to chaperone, that left MJ’s place.

It wasn’t Peter’s fault her parents had to work.

It also wasn’t his fault that MJ was getting bored with the usual make out routine and was willing to up the game.

It might not be his fault, but he certainly wasn’t about to blame MJ, especially since she was now straddling his lap.

She eased her fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, her nails scratching softly against his stomach, his ribs, and holy shit did that tickle.

She paused, made eye contact and asked, “Are you okay with this?”

Peter nodded. He wasn’t entirely certain what _this_ was gonna be, but she’d already said what it wasn’t so he figured, yeah, he was up for it. Definitely okay. Oh, apparently she wanted verbal confirmation.

“Yes,” he said. He thought about trying to say something else, something to illustrate just how much he was okay with this, but she was sitting in his lap so she probably already knew…besides, she already had his shirt off so he just muttered another “yes” as she tossed it on the floor.

And then her shirt was on the floor, too.

Peter had once seen the Black Widow’s bra. It was an accident, sort of, more her fault than his, but still.

This bra was completely different. For starters it was an actual bra, not a sports bra. This one had strappy straps and it was blue and there was a little teeny tiny bow on the front right in the middle, and it dipped down hugging and highlighting these wondrous curves and it shifted slightly, moving each time its owner breathed.

But unlike the black sports bra Peter had gotten a glimpse of months before, this one was different because _this_ one he was actually allowed to look at.

And touch too, apparently, because MJ (her hands shaking as much as Peter’s) grabbed Peter by the wrists and carefully put one hand on her hip, the other on her ribcage, close enough that if Peter moved his thumb _just so_ it’d push up against the underside of her bra.

Peter had always enjoyed kissing MJ. It was just a fact. But it was quickly becoming apparent that kissing MJ without the hindrance of shirts was definitely better. She leaned in, pressing her chest against his, and okay, those were actual boobs touching him, and kissed him.

Then Peter’s phone began to ring.

They ignored it. But it kept ringing. And ringing. And shouldn’t it have gone to voicemail by now?

“Peter,” Karen’s voice suddenly sounded from Peter’s watch. “Mr. Stark advises you answer your phone.”

Peter locked his wide eyes on MJ, muttered an apology and reached in his pocket for his still ringing phone. It was a little awkward because MJ was still in his lap, but that was okay. He wasn’t about to ask her to move.

He slid his thumb across the screen and raised it to his ear. He was about to say hello, but Tony beat him to it.

“Where are you?”

Peter looked nervously at MJ. He hadn’t put it on speaker but he could tell she could hear what was being said. “…Home.”

“I’m going to ask you again and before you answer, I want to remind you that your fancy new watch has a GPS tracker in it,” Tony bit out, voice doing that weird _I’m not yelling but I’m still not happy_ thing. “It also records your vitals, and I’m looking at a heart rate of about 142, so you want to try that again?”

Peter and MJ both frowned and looked down at the watch blinking on Peter’s wrist. “Are you spying on me?”

“No,” Tony said, sounding a little insulted at the implication, “I was minding my own business when I got a notification that your heartrate was reaching high levels. Now you’re not in your suit, and I know you’re not home...”

“I’m…uh…” Peter began but he really didn’t want to tell Tony Stark that he was staring at second base.

MJ, of course, had no problem doing just that because she grabbed the phone out of Peter’s hand.

“His heart rate is up because he’s participating in some sociable extra-curriculars and would like to get back to it if you’re done being a nosey perv.”

Peter could hear the silence on the other end of the phone before Tony’s surprised (slightly amused) voice said, “MJ, I presume.”

“Later, Stark.” MJ hung up and tossed the phone on the bed. She stared at it for a few seconds before turning to Peter and asked, “Did I just call Iron Man a pervert?”

Peter was busy pulling the watch from his wrist. “A nosey pervert, yes.”

MJ tossed the watch in a drawer for good measure.

* * *

It was Wednesday before Tony asked, “I thought she was just a friend?”

“She is,” Peter confirmed, remembered the fact that he’d officially seen her bra and quickly amended, “She was… I mean—“

“I also thought--“ Tony continued, “--that she was supposed to be helping you with your homework, you know, keep your grades up, not…other things.”

And the way Tony’s left eyebrow arched high and the _way_ he said “other things” had Peter looking to the floor, begging it to open up and swallow him whole.

“Oh god, can we please not talk about this?” The last thing Peter needed in his life was for Tony Freaking Stark to give him the Talk.

“Fine, kid. We won’t talk about it.”

And they didn’t.

That’s not to say Tony didn’t program Karen to do it.

“I’m sorry, Peter, but Mr. Stark has instructed that I’m not to turn back on the web shooters until he’s convinced that you understand where babies come from.”

“God, kill me now.”

“You are being unnecessarily dramatic. Now, lesson one…”

* * *

At the beginning of the year, his councilor made him write out a five year plan. It was one of those prepare for the future, make sure you’re on the right track to reach your goals kind of things.

Peter had written two. The first rambled on about colleges and internships and yada yada yada.

The second could basically be summed up as “Do not die.”

Neither plan included MJ.

But MJ didn’t give a crap about his plans. She never had.


End file.
